It isn't often that I get personal mail at my university address. Yesterday, I did.

It's in reference to this column from the local almost daily. The letter reads:

Dear Mrs. Martini,

This note is in response to an article you wrote for the October issue of "LifeStyle" (Oneonta Star)

I sincerely hope you might read the small brochures enclosed.

Each one of us needs to know Christ as Lord and Savior, not merely a man of history.

I am praying for you.

Sincerely,

(name withheld)

PS. You might like to look up Psalm 14:1.

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Here's the thing: I used to get mail like this all the time when I worked for Metro Pulse in Knoxville. I take it as a comfort that a) someone cares and b) it didn't explode. Also, unlike the bulk of the religious themed mail I got in Tennessee, there was no mention of brimstone and I wasn't called any off-color names that rhyme with "punt."*

It's fine, really. Ms X means well, even if her suggestion of Psalm 14.1 rankles a bit. I'd like to cite Ephesians 4.31 back at her -- but that seems petty.

And so it goes.

Moving on -- I'm in the process on putting together the holiday** card, which is always big fun. Two outtakes you might enjoy on this chilly*** Thursday:

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective lives mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch—either in illustration or word form—and the other would make a companion to the sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise makes both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

As your groceries come down the belt and I grab them one by one, I have just enough time to identify them before I slide them across the scanner.

Three giant tubs of ice cream.

Two liters of diet Pepsi.

A frozen capon.

One finger of ginger, inexpertly torn from the hand and flopping around in a too-big bag.

Economy box of extra large condoms.

Cold cuts (extra rare roast beef) and a pint of potatoe salad, with potato still misspelled because Hal back in Deli is the reason we can’t have nice things.

Sixteen single-serving yogurt cups.

Sixteen cans of cat food.

Birthday candles.

Last, a tin of Altoids.

I judge you, silently. You say nothing and hand me a coupon, which has expired, pay for your groceries and leave.

Second, I put together an e-book collection of all of the Parenting Imperfect columns that have run in the local almost-daily. The cover art is by Lisa, my partner in Figs. The Amazon link. The Barnes and Noble link.

Third, Gothic and Sweater Quest are available at an online bookseller near you. Or, if you are looking for the perfect holiday gift, contact Michele at the Green Toad and you can get yourself an autographed copy. I might even through in a little something extra.***

“Babies are a nuisance, of course. But so does everything seem to be that is worth while – husbands and books and committees and being loved and everything. We have to choose between barren ease and rich unrest.”

Once upon a time, Lisa and Adrienne worked for the same alternative newsweekly. Now, both spend their respective lives mining their creative souls and leading hermit-like lives. And so an idea was hatched. Every week, one would send the other a sketch—either in illustration or word form—and the other would make a companion to the sketch. The result would be posted on both their blogs every week, just for grins. Even if the result isn't award-worthy, the exercise makes both minds more nimble. Hopefully.

It’s been said that people start to look like their pets, if given enough time. Ralphie always thought that that was misleading. Maybe people subconsciously simply picked a pet they already resembled and tried to blame the pet for the changes to their own physiognomy. Perhaps people instinctually know how their faces will sag and thicken as the years go by and chose the pet to match? Perhaps those with snub noses gravitate toward your pekinese, your pug? Perhaps those low to the ground favor your daschunds? Those prone to jowls know the bulldog is best?

Ralphie had time to muse while the photographer set up the annual holiday card shot and he caught a glimpse of himself and Steve on the monitor. The matching sweaters were a bridge too far, he mused, right before he bit him.

One of the best things about teaching at a university is all of the cool stuff you get to see just walking to your office.* Like this new exhibit, which was part of a class project on type design.

This panel is for Heidi. She knows why.

And this one is my favorite:

The Featureless Saint raked and bagged leaves over the weekend, which meant that a certain dog got to play in the piles.

The soccer ball in these pictures is Lucy's favorite toy. She likes to herd it around the backyard.

Can you spot the corgi in the picture below?

* It's the knowledge that I can rub up against the work of so many different disciplines, which sounds naughtier than I'd intended, that keeps me going when the work of teaching gets me down. That and the free coffee. (Note: there is no free coffee.)